Hover
by Siren'sElegy
Summary: There are no lines between fallacy and honesty. Quistis & Seifer
1. one: Exploited

Disclaimer; I don't own anything belonging to Squaresoft.

Author's note:

I've heavily edited this story, taking out bits and pieces, changing chapters entirely, and adding a couple of more. I didn't like the way the story was moving, and I've spent a lot of time revising it, so that it moves the way I want it to. I also took the advice of some of the reviewers, so I hope it's a little better in that aspect, too. I might edit it again a little more, just 'cause I'm anal like that, but it won't make much of a difference, I think. If you've had the patience to put up with me, many, many thanks.

If you've read this story before, you'll know what I changed and whatnot. I hope you like these new chapters, though. and thanks for reviewing my story! (: 333

* * *

I always thought I was

A trivia question unfit to be asked.

"Jump."

"What the fuck, Trepe. You're a crazy whore. I'm not jumping."

"We could've done this the easy way."

"You shouldn't have fired all those fucking bullets."

"If you opened the door when I knocked, maybe—"

"—maybe you wouldn't have knocked my door down?"

"JUMP. You _can_ jump, right?"

"I'm a little drunk, but I can jump."

"I don't have time to mess around."

"We'll fight them off."

"No, we won't. Almasy, JUMP."

"Fuck. You."

Even after everything that had happened, he was still stubborn, if not more.

It had been a still night—children were tucked away in their tiny beds, clinging with their little fingers to blankets and dolls. A full moon cast its beautiful glow upon the carefree people. And then it was all over. At exactly 12: 00, Quistis Trepe made her existence known within the borders of this minuscule sliver of a town.

_There had been many nights before, where she'd found herself in the same, shitty apartment building. Fog lined the stairwells and halls—it was barely impossible to see anything beyond. Many times before, she'd found herself staring into the cold surface of the worn, wooden door, which looked as if it had been repaired once, but slashed to bits again. This place was nothing more than a mere hole in a wall—and a shitty, half-assed hole, too. She'd knock on the door gently, cringing with each time. It wasn't pain that caused her insides to writhe—it was the fear of the entire place collapsing when she touched it. _

_But today would be different. The man on the other side of this door would finally respond, even if it was by pure force. With a stable and hard kick, the door fell to the floor with a loud clatter, shaking all that stood beneath her. But she did not fear—she held it all back with a defiant look. 500 tons, what was that, anyway? Hardly anything to Trepe. _

_There he stood, beer bottle halted midair, emerald eyes peering through the thick fog, toward the silhouette in the door. _

"_Seifer Almasy."_

"_Instructor, what a pleasant, surprise."_

_-&-_

"_You're not the first to hunt down the shit out of me. There was that other crazy bitch that knocked down my door—you wouldn't happen to know her, would you? I would think there's a whole community—an asylum where you ass fucks go to, right, Trepe?" _

"_Shut up, Seifer."_

"_Just leave."_

"_I can't."_

"_What, SeeD hired you?"_

"_To protect you." _

_He scoffed._

"_Of all the people they could have sent to 'rescue' me, they sent you, Trepe."_

"_Screw you, Almasy." _

"_Screw you too, Trepe."_

_He resisted leaving. He merely planted himself on his shitty mattress, flipping bottle caps across the litter-strewn floor, not caring in the slightest. And then she fired the first warning shot. And then the second. And then she released a whole round from her trigger-happy fingers. He replied after that. _

"_'THE FUCK, TREPE. PUT THAT SHIT DOWN." Seifer roared, the metal bottle caps springing up just slightly from the reverberations. _

"_We need to leave." Sirens wailed and lights danced through the windows, fighting its way through the fog. _

"Just jump."

"I can't fucking believe they sent you, of all fucking people, Trepe." Quistis paid no heed to his damaging words—and they were completely damaging. But after years of learning to ignore his opinions, she carried on, casting a single glance over her shoulders. No one yet. It'd be a matter of minutes before the whole placed would be swarmed, and she'd have red dots floating all over her body. In fact, she was anticipating it.

"Almasy, _jump_," Quistis urged, skimming upon the very surface of a plead.

"I could use a good fight before I go down." With Hyperion in his gloved hand, he swung it threateningly once, slashing at the air. He seemed complacent—as if he had all along been preparing for his eventual death—or execution—anything that involved him dying, really. Quistis, on the other hand, had no reason to look as complacent and still—sure she was a queen at being a blank slate, but even so, there would always be that evanescent presence of panic.

"You'll see why they hired me for this job." Without another word, Quistis looked intently at him for a moment, as if suddenly just deciding upon her choices. She extended an arm quickly, and tugged the shit out of his ear, pulling it towards her feet—his whole body collapsing to the floor with her force. Twisting the appendage, Seifer growled—it was unexpected and utterly painful. All in a split second this happened, and in the next second, a bullet—or what seemed like a bullet—ran straight through his leg. A loud roar escaped as he gripped his thigh, writhing on the floor, his ear still caught between Quistis' fingers.

"Hide your face and shut your fucking mouth." Quistis hissed as she stepped in front of his face. And sure enough, ten men decked out in armor appeared at the doorway, guns eye-level, and aiming at her. Seifer bit his lip in pain and rocked back and forth on his side, his hands wrapped tightly around his leg. The slightest, suppressed squirms could be heard coming from the injured man.

"PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN." Quistis tossed in her gun. "SPEAK."

"I'm a SeeD. I was hired to catch this murderer here, who arrived early this morning." Her hands were up in the air. It was fucking bright. Flashlights filled the doorway, piercing the mist, and hitting her directly in the face. But she didn't flinch, she didn't move a joint.

"I.D." The I.D. holder slid across the room, and the commander picked it up. "QUISTIS TREPE."

"Affirmative."

"YOUR EMPLOYER."

"Identity cannot be compromised.'

"SECTION?"

"Balamb Garden."

"COMMANDER?"

"Squall Leonhart."

"_What?!"_ That was the first comprehensible thing Seifer had said after he got shot. And he got kicked for that.

"Don't speak until spoken to," Quistis hissed. "Permission to leave."

"Permission granted." The commander made a move forward, only to be halted by Quistis.

"Please, don't move any further. The identity of my captive is to remain a secret."

"…Understood." From there, he slid her gun and ID across the floor, signaling his men to leave. SeeDs were not to be tangled with—he had learned that from a previous lesson forced upon him, and was never to forget it.

"Thank you."


	2. two: Smile

But see how deep the bullet lies.

Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder.

Seifer lay on the floor, the pain in his leg beginning to wear off. It had first hurt like shit, then turned numbed—he could've also even sworn there was some color disfigurement. But alas, he was only imagining it, as Quistis insisted. She stood above him, and kneeled down, looking slightly relaxed. "Shit, you really grew some backbone—hard ass."

"It was just a shock." Quistis shook her head, her words motioning him to stop being a little pussy. There was little eye contact between them and for all it was worth, Seifer was sure it was Quistis that was evading his eyes.

He regained strength in his leg and pushed himself off of the floor, Quistis distracted with other things. She was examining the room, picking all that Seifer scattered and could prove to be harmful.

"So they sent you?"

"Yes, they did. And unless you want to be caught, I suggest you wait to open your mouth until later." Arms were folded across the chest, though eyes were still distracted by something other. Now, those orbs were focused on the window behind Seifer and glazed with the same look as before.

"I'm drunk." He said it in hopes of melting the frigid air between them. And in some odd, twisted, Seifer-ish way, it showed gratitude.

Quistis walked to the window and took out the panes. Maneuvering her way, she managed to get onto the fire escape, verbally beckoning Seifer to follow. His things were attached firmly to his back—what little he had, anyway—and passed through. They both bounced from ladder to ladder, and eventually began bounding west.

As foggy as ever, Seifer remained close, not eager to lose track of Quistis. He wasn't sure of what to think, and neither did she.

"Next time, Seifer," Quistis suddenly halted and swung around to face him. Given the moment and distance, he nearly crashed into her, but the repelling forces that she emitted prevented it. "When I say something, just do it."

"…Okay." He finally let up, holding his hands in the air defensively. There was panic and apprehension in her eyes—and all those tears she had been hiding. It wasn't the first time he'd stared at her straight on. He battled her for her secrets, battled her for his privacy, battled her for her thoughts. But it was a different sight. And it struck him as odd.

She turned from him and continued on, stopping a mere, but dreadfully-silent, 5 minutes later. Through the cloud of haze, a tiny car could be seen.

"Get in."

"You're bad at kidnapping."

"I'm good at fucking you up, though." Their squabble was automatic, their replies blasé. Quistis got in, Seifer following her lead on the passenger side.

"Why'd they send you?" He had reclined his seat, and was leaning back, staring at the blonde before him. A sight he hadn't seen in ages, a sight he was secretly grateful for. He'd always argue that the last thing he wanted to see was that damned Garden, and Quistis Trepe. But he guessed he was wrong. Seifer Almasy was resting in his coffin and he was glad to see her standing over it.

"To haul your ass back to the Garden." Seifer scoffed.

"If anyone wants me dead, it has to be them. Liar." A finger traced an S on the frosty window. "If I thought, for a split fucking second, that that place could serve as a haven, I would've already been there."

"I don't give a damn whether you believe me or not. Honestly, Seifer, if they wanted to mutilate you, they would've sent everyone—not just me." A laugh escaped his lips, and Quistis scowled. "Ingrate. I've spent months looking for you. I don't know how you travel so fast."

"A thing I picked up from being in Garden. Handy little technique, huh?" Quistis rolled her eyes. "I didn't know that such a small town could have such an army."

"Well, everyone—not only that town—decided after the war, that they should at least be updated with equipment." Seifer shrugged, now that being out of that town, he didn't bother to wonder how he hadn't noticed beforehand.

"Leonhart became Commander?"

"Yes. He deserves it. You know, he's part of the reason why I'm here, bringing you back."

"So what's the other part, _Quistis?_"

"Because I missed that _utterly handsome face of yours_." Quistis spewed out sarcastically. _I miss that sarcasm_, Seifer thought, smiling inwardly to himself. Always amused by Quistis, he took pleasure in tormenting her.

"How's Pube-boy holding up, anyway?"

"—no shame at all, I should've known, Almasy. You carry on as if what you did was right and justified. No apologies, no shame."

"Shame? I make no apologies, Trepe." Seifer pulled up his seat, now deeply involved in defending himself. His reply was fierce and intent.

"Your honesty is murderous. Of course you have no shame, Almasy. You're a fucking selfish asshole."

"And you aren't?"

"I'm not anything like you, Seifer." She said quietly, as if trying to believe it herself. A moment passed and he could feel his eyes burning through her smooth skin. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Screw you, Trepe."

"Screw you too, Almasy."

-&-

"Wake up." Quistis nudged him harshly, Seifer waking with a sputter and sudden fear. "I need to make a pit stop." The sun was beyond just a bit, the cold, morning dew hanging in the air. Quistis loved mornings. She loved the warm colors, the biting cold, and the quiet.

"How long have," Seifer rubbed his eyes, "you been driving?"

"Couple of hours. Couple of days. I've lost track, really. Wake up and keep watch."

"Where are we?"

"Calta. A small town a little far off from Winhill. You are not to move. You are not to show your face. Just make sure no one tows this car away."

"I'll try."

"You had better." Quistis popped open the door of the car, and walked out. The blonde conducted herself elegantly, tying back her hair in a neater fashion, and smoothing the wrinkles in her black skirt. Quistis strolled through the town, watching as little children ran through the streets, eager to get to school. Old couples walked along, bidding greetings to their neighbors, and teasing each other of memories long gone.

Things _had _been different ever since the war. When she returned, things weren't as glorified—it had been far from that. Graves were dug, soldiers, cadets, and SeeDs lost, acknowledged for their part in the war. Friends were gone. People and students she had known were now resting underground. To think that only days before, she had been celebrating the victory obliviously. She ached for the innocence she had once known.

Everyone had someone to return to. Quistis had only the life she had before the war. And it was a pitiful and sorrowful thing to return to. But she did it with grace and continued on with a robotic smile.

"Seifer, you idiot." Quistis returned to the now empty car, carrying supplies. Throwing the supplies in and locking the door, Quistis turned to find him. She paused, fearing for a moment she would have to think like him. Thankfully, Seifer appeared around the corner, beers in hand, and a grin on his face. "I told you to stay in the car."

"Eh." Seifer tossed her a bottle, guzzling down his own, and opening up another bottle.

"You've got to be kidding me, Seifer." Quistis settled the bottle on the floor and looked at him with amazement and contempt.

"Look." Seriously, now, he sat on the curb, and stared straight up at the glistening figure. "You didn't think that you'd be able to 'haul my ass back to Garden,' would you? You've got to be shitting me if you thought I was going to stay in that car, and listen to you. I've got shit to do before I die. I've already wasted a couple of hours." It was in his eyes—everything, all of it. Seifer knew and acknowledged the mistake he made, the consequences of making such a choice, and the time he had left. He was a man with a death date—and for someone with such a doom, Seifer looked and acted fine. But Quistis herself was a person of masks—and she could see through his façade, as she was sure he could see through hers. Both of them, though, all these years, denied seeing those truths. They left it alone, shoved it aside, but in truth, all of it kept making the two come back to each other.

"Well, I came here to get you. And I'm sure as hell not going back empty-handed. So you can come with me, or I'll just break your legs and drag you back."

"Who would've thought. Trepe finally gaining some balls. Guess the war really hit you cold. And here I thought you would be a push-over for the rest of your life. Let's see…how many of your friends did you see die?"

"How many of your friends did you kill, Almasy?"

"You know, I never see you talk this way to anyone else—you make me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside." Seifer said in a complacent tone, trying to drown out the pain of her previous words, by pretending not to care. He pretended she was wrong.

"Shut up, Seifer."

"Smile for me, Trepe."

"What?" Quistis folded her arms across her chest defiantly, and looked at him, irritated and unsure of what he just asked. But she wasn't going to smile for him, for whatever perverted reason he asked her to smile for.

"Just do it. Smile," he said, drawing out the syllables of that word.

"No."

"It's because you can't." Seifer walked past Quistis, who stood there, mouth slightly agape. That was completely uncalled for. She gathered her thoughts and composed herself.

"You can't either, Almasy." She called after him, turning on her fuming heels.

"We always were one in the same."


	3. three: Bullets

The unreasonable sacrifice

That this little lamb asked me.

He had no right, no right at all to accuse her of anything. _One in the same,_ the hell they were. For one, she was organized, collected, and rarely lost her temper. Him? Furious half of the time, cruel, sadistic, and for Hyne's sake, he tried to fucking blow up the world. If that wasn't enough to separate themselves, Quistis was ready to be a chamber for bullets. She'd hardly spent one day with him, and already gave it all up. A couple of months' work of tracking and stalking, all to surrender in one day. _It just wasn't worth it. _

---Quistis------------------------------------------------& - / - x - / - &----------------------------------------------------Seifer---

They were the same. He hated to admit it and it took awhile for him to realize it. But all Hyne, it was true. They were the constants in each others lives, _always_ there, whether wanted or not. _Always_ there, to the point where they suffocated each other with their presences. In the hallways, in the classrooms, even during missions and detention. And even today, here she was again. When the entire world was against him, she was there. Through the rubble and ruin their words created, she was there, deflecting his nasty remarks like rain drops. And he'd done the same. With her icy tone, he tried to find amusement in her words, trying to be all but a sheath for her icicles. It was their personalities and lives that separated them from others, but brought each other together.

But even though they were the same, things were different now. Did she really want to protect him? He would've thought that she would've stopped giving him chances to redeem himself. He acknowledged what he had done, and thought she was through with him. The rest of the world was, at least. She came to him, a spoil of war; bitterer, nastier, more unrelenting, and just a little more dead on the inside. But hey, who was he to judge? Like he didn't have a reason to trust her, he couldn't convince himself that there was a reason for him to be saved.

-&--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&-

"Oh, pity. Am I in th' middle of a lovers' quarrel?" A husky tone asked, appearing around the bend. The fierce glow of the sunrise shone behind him, making it hard to discern his facial features. From his tone, however, it was no one that Quistis or Seifer knew.

"What the fuck do you want?" Seifer asked gruffly, turning to him, an irritated look on his face.

"You, m'boy. You and that one mil bounty ov'r yer head." Seifer scoffed. The man stepped out of the sunlight. No older than 40, Quistis assumed. Wrinkles lined his leathery faces, dull hazel eyes staring intensely at Seifer.

"I've got other things to do, than to play with you."

"Oh, I have no intention to play with you, boy."

"Fuck off, old man—" faster than the speed of light, a knife was at Seifer's throat, his back slammed against the brick wall behind him. A twisted smile lined his face as he peered closely into Seifer's wakened eyes. "Not bad, old man." Seifer breathed, the spark of a warrior in his emerald eyes. He could feel the cool hard metal pressing into his flesh—but it wasn't the knife held against his neck that he felt. Rather, it was the other that had stabbed him in the waist. Apparently, this old man wanted a battle, or he would've killed him already. He was in every position to do so.

Trying not to wince at the utter pain, Seifer felt the steel sliding out of his body, giving him a chance to redeem himself. Summoning dormant strength, he shoved the old man off of him, and dashed to his Hyperion on the floor, all in one quick motion. His fingertips ached for a good fight—a good battle. One hand was held over the deep wound, the other swinging Hyperion fiercely in the air.

It happened all too quickly for her to see what had happened, but she saw Seifer clutching at his waist. Unraveling her whip, she stood behind him, lightning surging through her hands.

Jumping to his feet, he unsheathed twin daggers from his sleeve, one of them stained with Seifer's blood.

"Oh, if I had a million gil." Clinks of metal sliced through the air, grunts and shouts from their throats as they engaged in battle, magic flying this way and that. Quistis watched the brilliant speed of their skills clash. Feeling a presence behind her, she pivoted around, coming face to face with another man, no older than 30, at most. Making a clumsy notion to capture her, she allowed him to grab her, but sent volts through his body, making him shudder.

"What the fuck," he muttered—clearly he wasn't as skilled as his partner, nor did he expect her to be able to do that. Pulling out a rusty knife, all Quistis could think of was contracting a disease from being sliced with that thing. Throwing a whip around his neck, he choked, the knife falling to the floor.

"Hah, it's funny. I would've thought, with all the trouble you made, and all the people you killed, you would've been a better challenge," he said, wiping the blood from his lips. His clothes were torn and bloodied, but he still held the fervor of a child at play.

"That's fucked up, old man." Seifer frowned, straightening his posture to something a little more relaxed. He lifted the Hyperion slowly, aiming it between the man's eyes. Oblivious to what the Hyperion could do, he waited for Seifer to move, curious at his relaxed stance. One single shot drove straight through the man's head. What's another stain on his already bloodied hands?

Grabbing at the whip and failing to release himself, he turned blue and limp. Just unconscious. She avoided killing people as much as possible, even if it was her sole job as a SeeD. She'd seen enough, done enough. Her hands were stained just like Seifer's, and no amount of convincing would persuade her to believe they weren't. Of course he had killed for different reasons, but there was no justification, no possible reason for her to murder as well. It was undiscussed in all of the Gardens. Considered taboo and bad luck, none of it was even uttered. But Quistis knew she had done wrong, though it was far too late for her to change anything.

"Are you okay?" Quistis raveled her whip to her waist, and rushed over to Seifer, who was leaning against the wall.

"I'm fine." Slowly, he rose, still avoiding her eyes.

"I'll see if I can get some bandages." His knees caved in and he fell to the floor, helpless. He still couldn't believe that man's speed. He couldn't believe he got stabbed. But in a way, he liked the feeling. He was wrought with guilt, each moment reminding him of what he'd done. It felt as if the world was getting even with him, giving him the release he yearned for. This stab was just the start.

Seifer didn't want to kill the man so quickly, but he could feel his power waning. With the exception of the SeeDs, no one else knows of the gunblade's trigger feature, which came in handy at all times.

Leave it up to Quistis to set up a medic station in a parking lot. Carefully cleaning out his wound with water, she examined the damage. Sucking in the air, he made no notion that it pained him too much. Casting curaga on the slice first, it mended itself a little. But the wound was still deep.

"It's going to need stitches." Quistis frowned.

"Come near me with a needle and I'll fucking kill you." It wasn't that he was unsure of Quistis' fist aid abilities, but he just didn't want to be sewn up. He was paying his debt to society, and he already decided he'd live with it. "Just slap a band-aid on, and we'll all go home, Trepe."

"You're hurt, Seifer."

"No shit."

"It's going to require more than fucking curaga and a band-aid to fix you."

"I'll do it myself, then." He dug around for some bandages with his hand, pulling up a roll. She sighed and took the roll, defeated.

"…Sit up." Pushing him up painfully as a way to say 'fuck you,' Quistis wrapped the bandages around his waist, noting how the shape of his body was so elegantly cut. But shutting the thought from her mind, she rose, the unconscious man stirring in his sleep. "Come on." She stretched a hand towards him. He swatted it away.

"I'm not coming with you."

"You don't have a choice—you never did." Quistis glared at the man before her, still bitter and angry. Sure she helped him, but that hardly meant a thing. She was tired of playing these games with him.

"You're just a pawn in whatever plan they have, Quistis—"

"Don't speak to me about being a pawn. You followed Edea like her personal play doll, there for her to mold into whatever she wanted," she said, in her trademark steel, level voice.

"Bitter." There was no one else he was able to banter with—there was no one else able to retort so easily to his words, and for it to leave a burning sting.

"Seifer. You have nowhere else to go. Come with me." Though it sounded more like a plea, it was more of a threat. And he understood that. Giving in, he reached for her hand, allowing himself to be pulled up by Quistis Trepe. Oh, what a day.


End file.
